{"id":2346,"date":"2017-01-02T15:59:42","date_gmt":"2017-01-02T15:59:42","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/jameslawless.net\/?p=2346"},"modified":"2017-01-02T15:59:42","modified_gmt":"2017-01-02T15:59:42","slug":"the-new-year-of-anna-zweig","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/jameslawless.net\/?p=2346","title":{"rendered":"THE NEW YEAR OF ANNA ZWEIG"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"For-Love-of-Anna-front\"<\/a><\/p>\n

When prerecorded bells ring in the New Year Anna and Guido find themselves forced into a human chain to sing Auld Lang Syne. Balloons and coloured streamers descend from the ceiling. People are jumping about and laughing.
\nBut as for Guido, things are happening too fast. He keeps smiling for Anna\u2019s sake, only for Anna, he keeps up the show, being tossed around this way and that thinking (trying to catch the thoughts as they fly away from him) of all that has happened in the space of an hour, and his father, he never finished the story; perhaps he never will, but Anna has a right to know now and his words, the words he wrote, the words that were printed on his father\u2019s press, what have they become? A superficial foottapper instead of a clarion call to revolution. What was Philippe up to?
\nHe is silent, sitting across from her sipping red wine.
\n\u2018Is something wrong?\u2019 she says, taking hold of his hand.
\n\u2018Nothing\u2019s wrong.\u2019
\n\u2018It\u2019s the song, isn\u2019t it?\u2019
\n\u2018It doesn\u2019t matter.\u2019
\nA slow number starts to play. \u2018Come on,\u2019 she says, pulling him to the floor.
\nThey dance, or rather move trancelike to the slow music, clinging to each other, Anna\u2019s head resting on Guido\u2019s shoulder trying to ooze the knotted thoughts out of his tormented soul. She knows it. She looks up into his eyes. Some secret, something deep, some sorrow there \u2013 her mother had noticed, not normally wrong in that area. Violins are playing somewhere in the middle of the song making her all misty-eyed. Orchestral backing to heighten the emotions of a banal tune.
\nHe feels her softness closing into him. \u2018It\u2019s after the chimes,\u2019 he says. She reaches to his ear whispering, \u2018I love you,\u2019 barely audible, yet the frisson of the words, the little breeze of their sound. They kiss coming to a standstill in the middle of the floor. The music continues to play its slow sensuous notes. He\u2019s about to say something to her, to tell her too. She\u2019s waiting, willing him to say the words…
\nSuddenly there\u2019s a commotion at the entrance.
\n\u2018Cops,\u2019 someone shouts. The music stops. Some of the \u2018dancers\u2019 \u2013 former immovable objects \u2013 take life and scarper.
\n\u2003<\/p>\n

In an office, a backroom of the nightclub, Jeremiah Delahyde is sitting on a fuchsine upholstered chair, a half empty brandy bottle on the desk. The prostitute, Madeleine is kneeling in front of him. Jeremiah dangles a cannabis sachet in front of Madeleine\u2019s face, tormenting her, pulling it away each time she reaches for it.
\n\u2018Please sir,\u2019 she says
\n\u2018Not till you do what you\u2019re supposed to do.\u2019
\nMadeleine goes down on all fours.
\n \u2018Please sir, now.\u2019
\n\u2018Not yet,\u2019 says Delahyde, \u2018you know you haven\u2019t earned it yet.\u2019
\n\u2018Again?\u2019
\n\u2018Again.\u2019
\nBartholomew Smythe knocks on the office door. \u2018It\u2019s the cops, Jeremiah.\u2019
\nDelahyde, quickly pulling up his trousers, rushes to the window where he lodges the sachets on the outside sill.
\nBartholomew, walking into the room, looks at Madeleine as she moans and props her back against a wall.
\nHow many times have I told you, Jeremy?\u2019 he says angrily
\nJeremiah, standing unsteadily, lifts Bartholomew\u2019s face up by the chin and throws a glazed look into the eyes of his friend. \u2018You worry too much, Barth. Remember cops are lackeys, our lackeys, Barth.\u2019
\nTwo uniformed officers come into the room with a young plain clothes man who flashes his ID card. They search about the place opening the drawers. The plain clothes man sniffs. \u2018The window,\u2019 he says, \u2018check the window.\u2019
\nThe two police officers return with the sachets of cocaine.
\nThe judge holds onto the back of a chair to steady himself. \u2018A despicable pusher,\u2019 he says, pointing to Madeleine \u2018Barged in here trying to sell it to me.\u2019
\nThe plain clothes man glances down at the dazed girl, her head swinging a blond curl back and forth.
\n\u2018If that is the case,\u2019 says the plan clothes man coolly, \u2018then why was it hidden?\u2019
\n\u2018You know who I am?\u2019 says Delahyde.\u2019
\n\u2018Yes, your lordship.\u2019
\n\u2018Can I have it now?\u2019 says Madeleine.
\n\u2018Your name?\u2019 says the judge to the plain clothes man, ignoring the girl on the floor. His tone soberly imperious now.
\n\u2018Mulrooney, your lordship.\u2019
\n\u2018Mulrooney. You were on my end line?\u2019
\n\u2018Yes, your lordship.\u2019
\n\u2018I called you out once?\u2019
\n\u2018You did. You thought there were burglars.\u2019
\n\u2018I thought..?\u2019
\n\u2018It was a hoax.\u2019
\n\u2018What age are you, Mulrooney?\u2019
\n\u2018Twenty five, your lordship.\u2019
\n\u2018Twenty five and already a detective.\u2019
\n \u2018Detective sergeant.\u2019
\n \u2018That\u2019s good Mulrooney. Shows ambition.\u2019
\n\u2018Thank you, your lordship.\u2019
\nThe judge, swaying slightly, takes a pen and paper from Smythe\u2019s desk. \u2018The epaulet numbers?\u2019
\n\u2018Pardon?\u2019
\n \u2018Of your officers?\u2019
\nThe detective hesitates, and embarrassedly reads the numbers on the epaulets of his bemused officers, while Madeleine slumps on the floor.
\n\u2018You have a family, Mulrooney?\u2019
\n \u2018A boy and a girl. Really, your lordship I mean…\u2019
\n\u2018Ages?\u2019
\n\u2018Four and three \u2026 respectively.\u2019
\nThe judge writes or pretends to write. \u2018You\u2019re a good policeman,\u2019 he says, \u2018efficient, conscientious, I like that.\u2019 He laughs. \u2018But they are not qualities that will take you far. Are they, minister?\u2019 Smythe is standing silently impressed by the judge\u2019s performance. \u2018I think we should show some appreciation, don\u2019t you minister?\u2019
\n\u2018I want to talk to you,\u2019 says Smythe to the detective, taking his cue from his friend. \u2018If you wouldn\u2019t mind asking your officers to wait outside for a moment.\u2019
\nMulrooney nods to the two officers who, in total confusion now as to what is happening, go outside the door.
\n\u2018The New Year,\u2019 says Smythe.
\n\u2018Yes sir.\u2019
\n\u2018I want you to take something for your kids. What are their names?\u2019
\n\u2018Really, sir.\u2019
\nSmythe offers him a manila envelope which he takes from inside his jacket pocket, already sealed and bulging as if already prepared, something routine.
\n\u2018I want you to take this for four and three.\u2019
\n\u2018Four and three?\u2019
\n\u2018Your kids. For their future, capisce?\u2019
\n\u2018I can\u2019t take that, sir.\u2019
\n\u2018You do love your children?\u2019
\n\u2018Of course.\u2019
\n \u2018And you want the best for them?\u2019
\n\u2018Of course, but…\u2019
\n\u2018So, don\u2019t be afraid. It\u2019s not a bribe. Far be it from me to attempt something like that in front of a judge, eh.\u2019 He laughs. The judge laughs, balancing against the chair.
\n\u2018I\u2019d prefer not to.\u2019
\n\u2018I\u2019ll put in a good word for you.\u2019
\n\u2018Happy New Year,\u2019 says Delahyde.
\n\u2018And you, your lordship.\u2019 The detective takes the envelope, his action apparently expedited by the authoritative and dismissive tone of the judge.<\/p>\n

\u2018The party\u2019s over,\u2019 says Smythe, \u2018time to go.\u2019 The runin with the police had unnerved him in contrast to his friend Jeremiah, who insisted on having another drink to celebrate the New Year and more drinks again to toast his cleverness in outwitting the police. The minister is annoyed with his friend, not only for refusing to heed his advice about prostitutes, but for having the gall to bring one back to his own premises. Bartholomew hadn\u2019t paid too much attention to Jeremiah going into the office \u2013 he was busy paying off that band, the Third World. How did they get through the nets singing anarchist stuff like that? wonders Bartholomew. Could bring the tone down in his nightclub. If the Party got wind of it… must vet what that MC allows in in future. Can\u2019t rely on anyone. Worries, worries, he has enough of them now without this, and he looks at Jeremiah, this big fool, when it comes to the opposite sex. He thought perhaps he was with one of the waitresses, but not that Madeleine junky of all people, known all over Potence, drawing attention to him and the position he\u2019s in. His reputation. In future Jeremy can conduct his business elsewhere and be damned with him. Can\u2019t keep bribing the police. Someone\u2019s bound to squeal eventually. He looks at his friend opening another bottle. Jeremiah has become a liability. Sober thinking is called for \u2013 something he always prided himself on, and the priority is to get the judge home as inconspicuously as possible.
\n\u2018These young Turks, Barth,\u2019 the judge is saying, slurring the words, \u2018they need to be kept in their place.\u2019 They hear a groan and they both look down at the semicomatose Madeleine sprawled on the floor. \u2018Now, your lordship?\u2019 she half mutters, and Jeremy laughs, and to the consternation of his friend, drinks one more time to toast their winning ways with women.
\nDelahyde leans on Smythe as he staggers out the door of the office. The music has stopped. The nightclub is closing. The last of the clubbers are departing.
\n\u2018We have outlasted them,\u2019 says Jeremiah, \u2018weakfleshed youths.\u2019
\n\u2018Easy,\u2019 says Bartholomew, brushing aside an offer of help from one of his argument assistants as Jeremiah misses the step leading out of the night club.
\nThey stumble along the dark street through a misty rain. \u2018I\u2019ll drive,\u2019 says Smythe as they approach the judge\u2019s car.
\n\u2018No, no,\u2019 says the judge. \u2018I can manage.\u2019
\n\u2018Jeremy, you\u2019re in no condition,\u2019 says Smythe, steadying him.
\nJeremiah laughs. \u2018Get in, Barth.\u2019
\nBartholomew, perhaps remembering his friend\u2019s stubbornness from the past and hoping for a quick end to an unpleasant night, resignedly sits into the passenger seat of the Merc with its blackened windows, the judge at the wheel laughing still. No sooner is the politician seated and, even before he has the opportunity to close the door, the judge is revving hard and screeching forward, and just misses bumping into a group of young revellers who scurry for refuge to the footpath.
\n\u2018Young fools,\u2019 exclaims the judge, but still laughing, delighting in the near miss of the collision. \u2018Walking on the road, what do they expect?\u2019
\nThe judge slumps down in the driving seat. The car swerves.
\n\u2018Easy, Jeremy.\u2019
\nThey approach traffic lights which have turned amber. There is a young couple waiting to cross the road, waiting for the lights to change.
\n\u2018The lights, Jeremy. Slow down,\u2019 shouts Smythe, alarmed by the speed of the car.
\n\u2018We can make it,\u2019 says the judge, accelerating.
\nThe lights change to red and the green pedestrian light comes on and the couple proceed to cross the road, arms around each other, she on the side of the approaching vehicle, and both of them so taken up with each other that they fail to notice the car\u2019s rapid advance.
\n\u2018Watch out,\u2019 shouts Smythe. \u2018There are people crossing.\u2019
\nThe judge jams on the brakes but it is too late. He is too near them and the car ploughs into the pedestrians, striking the young woman, knocking her down while simultaneously catapulting the young man across the road.
\n\u2018Don\u2019t stop,\u2019 says Smythe.
\nThe car is thrown sideways to the road by the impact of the collision. The judge opens the door and looks behind. \u2018Close the fucking door,\u2019 admonishes the politician. \u2018Are you crazy?\u2019 The judge reverses the car and revs hard again driving over the left leg of the girl. \u2018Oh fuck,\u2019 says Smythe as they disappear into the night.<\/p>\n

Guido \u2013 for it is he and Anna who were crossing the road \u2013 is relatively unscathed except for a sprained hand which broke his fall and a cut on his forehead. He raises himself up as the car departs, seeing the face only in shadow (so like… but couldn\u2019t be sure) all happening in a split second, but he manages to memorise the number plate. He rushes over to where Anna lies. She is unconscious but breathing. A panic seizes him. He doesn\u2019t know what to do? He kisses her and holds her and whispers encouraging words into her ear. \u2018Anna, Anna, you\u2019ll be all right, Anna. Just hang in there.\u2019
\nA passing motorist, on seeing the couple on the road, stops but the driver does not pull down his window or speak to Guido. Instead he takes out a mobile phone which Guido can make out under the street light. He gives a little beep to Guido on his car horn before driving off.
\n Anna is lying on her back, gently moaning, breathing in low sobs, her chest hardly rising. He sees the tyre marks \u2013 the car\u2019s DNA \u2013 clearly visible, the intricate undulations of rubber, the anti-slippage designs indented into her left leg. He takes off his parka and covers her leg, as if not wanting the world to see what has been done to her. He looks down the dark street, afraid to leave her.
\nHe hears the ambulance. How long was he waiting? Not long. A matter of minutes. An eternity.
\n\u2018Don\u2019t move her, whatever you do,\u2019 the ambulance man says, gently pushing Guido aside. \u2018That\u2019s the common mistake, lifting the patient after a crash.\u2019 The ambulance man with long silver hair streaking down from under his cap is too knowing for Guido\u2019s liking. He has seen it all before. He could still feel sympathy. Does he have to be so cocky? They lift Anna onto a stretcher. \u2018Jesus, her leg\u2019s in bits,\u2019 says the ambulance man. \u2018Was she run over by a juggernaut?\u2019 \u2018A car ran over her twice,\u2019 says Guido. \u2018Twice? You mean a deliberate hit?\u2019 \u2018I don\u2019t know.\u2019 The ambulance man gives a low whistle. \u2018You get into the ambulance now, sonny,\u2019 he says. \u2018You\u2019ve got a few cuts yourself that need seeing to.\u2019<\/p>\n

In the hospital, Guido watches as she is speedily wheeled past him, like time, like a clock\u2019s hand. He sees the gurney whiz past with its iron bars (why are they so prison-like?), and Anna lying there, lifeless with tubes coming out of her as if she is some sort of alien, not his Anna, not his vibrant Anna. If only he had been on the nearside instead of her. \u2018Anna, not this, not this,\u2019 he shouts.
\nA nurse tries to calm him and restrains him from going after the gurney which is followed by surgeons and theatre nurses half dressed in gowns and masks, with strings untied, all moving at great speed as it swishes down the polished linoleum corridor and bursts through flapping doors into a room called THEATRE.
\nAnother nurse gives him two tablets for shock, and a black doctor puts two stitches over his left eye which he says must have struck a stone or some sharp object when he landed.
\nHe sits down on a plastic chair in the emergency waiting room. There are a number of people sitting around, all on grey chairs. He looks down the corridor at the red light over the THEATRE door and he thinks of the red traffic light and the human scream and the screech of brakes, and the whole lurid drama reenacts itself in his mind.
\n\u2018I\u2019ll take her details now,\u2019 calls a nurse from a hole which opens in the wall. For a terrifying moment Guido realises that he has no formal connection with Anna at all. She commences to enter Anna\u2019s details on a computer. \u2018Date of birth?\u2019 \u2018I\u2019m not sure,\u2019 says Guido. \u2018Religion?\u2019 \u2018Hard to say.\u2019 The nurse stops flicking the computer keys and looks at Guido. \u2018You are a relative?\u2019
\n\u2018No… Well yes I\u2019m her… fianc\u00e9.\u2019
\nFianc\u00e9? Could he say the word? Yes he could say the word and, having given details to the best of his ability to the nurse, he finds himself sitting down again, this time beside a man in a sling. \u2018You know what I\u2019m in for?\u2019 says the man looking like someone who wants to unload his life story. A prison sentence, thinks Guido. He can only half listen, so taken up is he with Anna \u2013 the shock and suddenness of what has happened not fully sunk in \u2013 as the man, a glassblower, commences on his woes, how he burnt his hand in the molten parison in the glass factory. \u2018Penetrated the hole in my glove. The bastards never issued us the new ones. The skin came away when I tried to remove them.\u2019
\nThe words are fading. Is all this real? Is she really lying in that THEATRE? The wrong theatre. That\u2019s it. It\u2019s a mistake. They stopped off at the wrong theatre. He is waiting, the man is saying. How many hours to go for a skin graft? He wants to tell the man to shut up, but he keeps rattling on.
\n\u2018They don\u2019t see those things,\u2019 the man says disconsolately.
\n\u2018What things?\u2019 asks Guido.
\nThe man sighs. \u2018The hidden costs.\u2019
\nA fellow with a yuppie Potence accent is sitting some seats away laughing with a girl who rests her head on his shoulder. \u2018See him,\u2019 says the man with the sling. \u2018Cracking jokes to make the hours move faster.\u2019
\nTime passes, but not fast any more, the clock hand on the wall scarcely moving. The joker runs out of jokes. The room takes on a gloomy silence.
\nA woman bearing a dazed look \u2013 drugs, drink? in a tiny mini skirt half way up her bottom \u2013 is part pushed, part carried into the casualty ward by two whitecoated attendants and positioned in a seat opposite Guido. Guido, lost in his thoughts about Anna, pays her little attention. One of the attendants places a plastic bag with her personal things on the floor beside her. She slumps forward in the seat, her arms supporting herself on her thighs. She slumps forward and further forward until she falls on the ground head down at Guido\u2019s feet, forcing him to look up.
\nMadeleine.
\nA flustered nurse appears, holding a bandage and a scissors. \u2018Oh not you, Madeleine, not again,\u2019 she exclaims despairingly. She retreats behind the casualty door and after a moment reappears, this time pushing a wheelchair. \u2018Now, Madeleine,\u2019 she says, trying to rouse her. \u2018Now, Madeleine,\u2019 and Madeleine\u2019s eyes open glazed. \u2018Please, your lordship,\u2019 she says in garbled speech, \u2018can I have it now.\u2019 \u2018You\u2019re going to help us now, Madeleine, aren\u2019t you?\u2019 says the nurse as the attendants struggle to lift her into the wheelchair. <\/p>\n

New Year\u2019s Eve gives way to New Year\u2019s morning. He waits, sits for a while, his forehead taut with a smarting from the stitches, staring at a blank white wall, drinks tasteless coffee from a vending machine, paces up and down a small space. Afraid to telephone anyone, her mother, Philippe. Loti, yes Loti, he had only told her. Loti never liked those types of problems, personal, familial, that was not her scene. When he hurt his arm once as a kid (some bully twisted it up his back in the school yard) and he came home crying, she brushed him aside (gently of course), had no time; he had to fight his own corner, that\u2019s what she was saying but not in words. Inconveniences in the grand plan of things (she was totalitarian), her Great Design, a little boy, an accident, not just his arm, his whole self. But she was not unkind \u2013 she fed him when he cried \u2013 in her own way she fitted him anonymously into the twilight times, all the protests, all the revolutions that never were, as far as Guido could now ascertain, he was a little cog in the wheel. He was okay, but no more and no less than that of a pet hamster or maybe a bird in a cage that could be looked at and fed from time to time. Encourage, but let me not be deterred, that was Loti, his mother. Never told anyone in all the years until Anna came along. Even from Philippe he kept his secret and he was so like her, more like a son than himself could ever be. He knew she liked him always, had time for him, gave him the run of the caf\u00e9. Like her, he had little time for the personal, got carried away with the ideology. Their attitude towards Anna showed that \u2013 two of a kind. And his father, how he was summoned from the deep well and his printing press still in use, his legacy, but the dark side, never allowed to surface. Loti wanted all memory of him banished, insisted that it be banished. In the whirr of all her activities there was no room for that type of slowing down: an engine of darkness. Activists, but he\u2019s not an activist; Anna said it has to come from someone else, what you are. A contemplative perhaps (how can one go through life without thinking what it is we are going through, it baffles him). But why are all these thoughts crashing into his head now? Anna. He must think of her. He is afraid to move from the building, just as he was afraid to move from the scene of the crash earlier (how long is it now?) for fear she will call out for him. How would it be if he weren\u2019t there? What would she think of him? She said she loved him that night. Is love diminished by its articulation? Are these feelings better not expressed? Safer like shells in a basket, not allowed to fall. Her expression of love has led to this, he concludes. She had wanted to bring him to that nightclub to express her love for him. We would all be better off without it, without those highs and lows. All lows now like weather depressions coming in from the sea. Like his father. Glad he didn\u2019t tell her about him. Not now. And yet when he told her about his mother, she got confused. But it was his insistence that brought them to the nightclub. They could have skipped it.
\nIt is well into the morning when a surgeon appears. An exceedingly tall tanned man with fair wavy hair. \u2018You are the fianc\u00e9?\u2019 he says, untying the strings of his mask. \u2018I\u2019m Mr Kemp.\u2019
\n\u2018Van Thool.\u2019
\nThey shake hands.
\n\u2018She\u2019s going to be okay, Mr van Thool, but the left leg\u2026 it was too badly damaged, too many small pieces, all the bones crushed into tiny fragments\u2026we had to\u2026 she would\u2019ve died otherwise, you understand.\u2019
\n\u2018Wait a minute,\u2019 says Guido, \u2018you\u2019re not telling me you cut off her leg?\u2019
\n\u2018I\u2019m sorry, Mr van…\u2019
\n\u2018Thool.\u2019
\n\u2018There was no alternative. The gastrocnemius was beyond repair.\u2019
\n\u2018The what?\u2019
\n\u2018The muscle that gives one mobility. She would never have been able to move it even if it were stitched, and there would also have been, indeed there still is, the danger of circulatory problems.\u2019
\n\u2018Hold on now, please just hold on,\u2019 says Guido breathlessly, \u2018am I hearing you right?\u2019
\n\u2018I\u2019m sorry. One has to act fast you understand in cases like this. But with prosthesis, you know, nowadays…\u2019
\n\u2018Jesus.\u2019
\n\u2018I am sorry.\u2019
\nGuido wrings his hands, looks around the room at the walls and the ceiling as if they are closing in on him.
\n\u2018Just like that. You cut off a person\u2019s leg just like that.\u2019
\n\u2018It was to save her life.\u2019
\n\u2018Did you ask her permission before you… before you butchered her?\u2019
\n\u2018There\u2019s no need for that,\u2019 says the surgeon taking umbrage.
\n\u2018When can I see her?\u2019
\n\u2018Not for a few hours. Not till she comes out of the anaesthetic. You must be brave for her, Mr van Thool.\u2019
\n\u2018Fuck, fuck, fuck,\u2019 shouts Guido.
\n\u2018Mr van Thool.\u2019 His voice is stern. \u2018She will need you to help her through this.\u2019
\n\u2018And what if she can\u2019t get through this? She was a ballerina, do you realise that?\u2019
\n\u2018I\u2019m sorry. I truly am.\u2019
\n\u2018She won\u2019t thank you, you know that? She won\u2019t thank you for saving her life.\u2019 He is sobbing. \u2018What\u2019ll I tell her mother? She\u2019s an invalid. She lived for her daughter, for her dancing. We all did. All of us who knew her. All of us who loved her.\u2019
\n\u2018I can arrange counselling,\u2019 the surgeon is saying.
\n\u2018Counselling?\u2019
\n\u2018Yes, but for the moment try and get some sleep.\u2019<\/p>\n

Guido can\u2019t bring himself to phone Mrs Zweig. He can\u2019t tell her over the phone what has happened to her daughter. Yet he knows he must contact her. He established from one of the nurses that Anna would be several hours under the anaesthetic, so, no matter how reluctant he feels, he knows he is of no use to her for the moment (if ever). Even guardian angels need… oh shut up, he says to his thoughts. So rather than wait several hours for Anna to wake up from the anaesthetic \u2013 under no circumstances would he be allowed to see her before that \u2013 and seeking some physical outlet for the anguish he feels, he decides to run all the way to Mrs Zweig\u2019s apartment. Ignoring the lift, he runs down the stairs of the hospital, the night porter eyeing him suspiciously \u2013 everyone on the alert since the anarchists went on the rampage; who knows where they will strike next? and out the main door. He keeps running past bus stops and the high glass buildings, past the traffic jams and people jams with their morning queues: cleaners and night porters from the glass works, grave looking in the early light. He runs nonstop until he arrives winded at the door of her apartment.
\nHe is surprised to see how stoically she accepts what he has to tell her. \u2018The cards,\u2019 she says, showing no emotion. She rotates the wheelchair around, turning her back on him as he speaks, and she stares out the window, a vacuous place of release for her. A grey foreboding sky. Nowhere for her to run. Only in her whitening knuckles does he discern the tension in her as they press tightly on the steel wheels of her chair.
\n\u2018So, she\u2019s going to be like me now. She\u2019s going to be worse than me. At least I have a leg to scratch.\u2019
\n\u2018If I had only been on the nearside,\u2019 says Guido.
\n\u2018The nearside?\u2019
\n\u2018Of the car. I\u2019m sorry. But if it\u2019s any consolation I\u2019ll find out who…\u2019
\nFor Love of Anna by James Lawless is one of the finest 5 star pieces of writing I have read in recent years.\u2019 Deepak Menon, Amazon review. She sighs. \u2018Don\u2019t say any more Guido van Thool.\u2019 She looks around the maroon walls of her apartment, at photographs of her daughter at various ages in poses from different ballets. \u2018They\u2019ll have to go,\u2019 she says, \u2018before she comes home.\u2019 She heaves. \u2018One thing one must never do is go around saying what one used to be.\u2019 Her hands shaking, she takes out her deck of cards from under her rug. She shuffles them, fans them out. \u2018Pick a card,\u2019 she says to Guido. Guido hesitates. \u2018Mrs Zweig I\u2019m…\u2019 \u2018Svetlana.\u2019 \u2018Svetlana I\u2019m not really…\u2019 \u2018Pick one,\u2019 she insists, pushing the cards into Guido\u2019s chest. Guido picks a card. Mrs Zweig looks at the card and looks at Guido. She moans. \u2018Always the same.\u2019 She puts the cards back under her rug and starts to rock in her chair. She moans and rocks to and fro, to and fro and her left foot begins to tap on the steel footrest. <\/p>\n

From For Love of Anna by James Lawless. In paperback and Kindle.<\/p>\n

HTTPS:\/\/WWW.AMAZON.CO.UK\/LOVE-ANNA-JAMES-LAWLESS-X\/DP\/1849237662\/REF=SR_1_9_TWI_PAP_2?IE=UTF8&QID=1483358559&SR=8-9&KEYWORDS=JAMES+LAWLESS<\/p>\n

\u2018For Love of Anna by James Lawless is one of the finest 5 star pieces of writing I have read in recent years.\u2019 Deepak Menon, Amazon review.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

When prerecorded bells ring in the New Year Anna and Guido find themselves forced into a human chain to sing Auld Lang Syne. Balloons and coloured streamers descend from the ceiling. People are jumping about and laughing. But as for…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2346","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack-related-posts":[],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/jameslawless.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2346","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/jameslawless.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/jameslawless.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/jameslawless.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/jameslawless.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=2346"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/jameslawless.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2346\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2348,"href":"https:\/\/jameslawless.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2346\/revisions\/2348"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/jameslawless.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=2346"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/jameslawless.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=2346"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/jameslawless.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=2346"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}